


De Tranquillitate Animi

by MaeChrys



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, M/M, Rite of Tranquility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 08:31:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6044977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaeChrys/pseuds/MaeChrys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is- not him. He can tell from the way he holds his shoulder, just a little too straight, it has nothing of the usual poise Hawke has, his arms aren’t dangling at his sides, but are rigid down his hips, his legs are too close together. Fenris is scared, but walks towards him anyway. He gets closer. And when he does, the tears are just streaming down his face before he can realize it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	De Tranquillitate Animi

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you stumble across amazing people's beautiful fanart, such as [this one](http://jbr-art.tumblr.com/post/127360568236/no-stop-this-hawke-snap-out-of-it-please-i)  by the amazing [jbr-art](http://jbr-art.tumblr.com) who also has an [AO3 account](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JBR) so you all should really really check it out

This isn't real. Fenris won't believe it. He can feel Anders' eyes on him, burning his skin off. It isn't real. Perhaps if he tells himself some more it really won't be.

The others don't speak, and the silence is just making everything worse. They are all sitting around the fucking table, and- he can't do it. He can't stand the looks, the words left unsaid. He knows they all think it's his fault. He was there when the Templars arrived. He was there when they took him away. He was there, and he couldn’t do anything. 

"I am sorry, Fenris" Varric's voice is low, heavy, but Fenris has never been more glad for a sound in his life "just... This isn't on you more than it is on any of us"

"Oh no" Anders chimes in, poison in each sound "this is definitely on him. It wouldn't have happened if-"

"Yes, yes it would have. What would you have done? Fought off the Templars singlehandedly? Would you have called your friend in, abomination?" he doesn't want to sound that harsh. Or perhaps he does. Pain is just too much, it is waving over him and he can't seem to gulp it down. 

“I would have saved him. He is-“ the mage stops for a second, and Fenris can see everything that is happening behind his eyes, every thought, every word. He is not anymore. “he _was_ like me. We would have won. Together”

Fenris shrieks and jumps against Anders’ throat. He will kill him. That’s it. He can’t hold off anymore. He will destroy him, rip the heart out of that useless, pitiful chest and he will feel it still beating in his hand and-

“Fenris. No.” there is someone between them. Someone soft, someone who smells like incense and candlewax. Isabela puts a hand over his chest and it really shouldn’t feel as wrong as it does. “We better not start fighting each other now. We have to find out if there is anything we can do”

“There isn’t. I would know.” every word out of Anders’ mouth is venom, and Fenris has to keep telling himself that the mage wouldn’t have been able to save him either. That he wouldn’t have ended differently. That Hawke had chose him, and not Anders. That it wasn’t that choice that destroyed him. 

“There must be something we can try”

“He’s gone, Isabela. Now, he is no more human than a piece of cloth”

 

_“You know, I wouldn’t trade this for all the gold in Kirkwall”_

_“That’s because you own half that gold, Hawke”_  
Hawke smiles, that tiny, smut grim that always goes directly to Fenris’ guts. Hawke is sprawled over the bed, as he does, legs and arms spread, and Fenris is curled up next to him, feeling ever so small. He likes this, this newfound domesticity. He didn’t think it would have been possible.  
And yet, Hawke feels like home, his smell of sweat and soap, his body always just slightly warmer than Fenris’… everything feels just right.

 _“I do, don’t I? I am a king. I could easily buy this shit hole off the Viscount’s hands and make it- I don’t know. Hawkeville. Home of the nicest ale in the Free Marches!”_  
  
“I wouldn’t push it. Isabela has probably drunk it all already”

_Hawke scoffs, passing a hand softly through Fenris’ white hair, holding eyes with the elf. “Maker, you are so beautiful”_

_“I could kill you with a finger, Hawke. I could hit the right spot and…”_  
  
“And you really think that makes you any less beautiful?” that fucking grin. That is something Fenris will have to deal with. How the mage can get away with anything, when he pulls out that grin that make his teeth shine. That’s how he gets everything done, there is a swagger in him, something Fenris will never understand-

_someone knocks on the door, hastily. Three knocks, then some more._

_“What?” Hawke isn’t so much worried as he is annoyed._

_“There is soldiers” it’s Bodhan’s voice, from the other side of the wall. Hawke’s back stiffens all of a sudden, and his eyes get darker “They are here for you, they say. If you could come out…”_

_“Tell them to wait downstairs, Bodhan. I’ll be just a minute”_

_Fenris looks at Hawke getting out of bed, he prompts himself up on one arm watching him wearing the robe from the armoire, while both their armors lie still scattered around the floor. “Should I come with you?”_

_He shrugs slightly while fastening the belt over the red robe “I don’t think it’s going to be any trouble. Somebody will need saving. Some dragon will need slaying. Some important whomever will need some important whatever rescued. It’s hard being everybody’s favourite toy”_

 

He could have saved him. Had he been faster, had he gone downstairs sooner, had he thought- Anders was right. It was his fault. And yet, when he heard the sound of blade against blade, the way Hawke tried to talk himself out of the situation, his voice smug and yet worried underneath- he still hadn’t thought anything of it. It was only when a deeper voice, a voice he didn’t know yelled _apostate_ that he had jumped out of bed too. 

When he had reached them, they were already holding Hawke. 

“Let. Him. Go.” Fenris’ could feel his tattoos glistening in the flebile light of the main room. There were too many of them, ten fully armed templars against one almost completely naked him. He could have tried. He would have failed.  
  
“Fenris. It’s all right” Hawke had looked at him with that _fucking smirk “_ We are just going to have a nice chat and everything will be all right”

“Hawke…”

“Fen.”

 

_“Step away, elf” three templars were already pointing their swords at him “step away from the apostate and you won’t be harmed”_

_“If you so much as touch him-”_

_“Fenris. It will be fine. I can take care of myself”_

No, Hawke. No, you can’t. 

_Fenris takes a step back. Just one, slow, deliberate, like he is still in control. He isn’t. This is the fog warriors all over again. He wants to attack them, knowing he won’t stand a chance. Hawke looks at him and shakes his head._ Don’t do it, Fenris.  
  
_Fenris is clenching his fists tight enough to make his fingernails leave tiny bloody marks in his palms._

 _The templars take Hawke away. He feet are still bare, and he is wearing only his red robe. He turns just once before the last templar closes the door between them. He looks at Fenris. They don't say the words out loud, but they sound in the room between them nonetheless._  
  
Fen.

_Hawke_.  


I love you.  
  
  
  
Bodhan had come to him to his house, his head low, fidgeting with his hands and without ever looking up to meet his eyes. “I am so sorry to bother…I was waiting for you to come back to the house and then I realized perhaps you wouldn’t have come and- I think you should come with me, master Fenris”

Fenris had stiffened for a second “What?”

“I just don’t think you wouldn’t want to know any later on mast-“

“Don’t call me that. What do I need to see?”

“I think you should prepare, mas…messere”

 

 _He is- not him. He can tell from the way he holds his shoulder, just a little too straight, it has nothing of the usual poise Hawke has, his arms aren’t dangling at his sides, but are rigid down his hips, his legs are too close together. Fenris is scared, but walks towards him anyway. He gets closer. And when he does, the tears are just streaming down his face before he can realize it._  
It’s not even the symbol on Hawke’s forehead that gets him. It’s his eyes. They are staring at the wall behind Fenris.  
Dark.  
Empty.  
And Hawke is not grinning.  
He doesn’t know when it is that he starts clawing at Hawke’s vest. He doesn’t remember getting this close, he doesn't remember holding with everything he has to Hawke, he doesn’t remember scratching his cheeks with his nails until he draws blood, he doesn’t remember when Hawke’s blood and his tears started to mash together.

_“Please, Fenris. You are acting unreasonably”_

_His voice. Oh, Maker. His voice. His voice is flat, just as empty as his eyes. There is nothing of Hawke in that, there is nothing of the man he knew and loved. This a shell, broken and bleeding._

_“They did what was right, Fenris. I was becoming a problem”_

_No._

_No._  
  
Fenris holds Hawke’s vest in his hands. He never thought Hawke would feel this vulnerable. He looks like he’s made of glass, and all he wants is to break him, to bring back his Hawke, to bring back that grin.

_Please. Please, please, pleasepleaseplease and before he is conscious of it he’s saying it out loud, clawing at him again “Please, Hawke. Please. Snap out of it. Please. Come back”._

_“This was the right choice, Fenris. I was made an example. Mages now will know” it’s dark. His voice is dark. His voice is void. And his eyes are still staring at the wall._  
  
Fenris feels his knees weaken and he is falling on the floor, still crying. Everything is spinning around him. Everything is too fast. Too messy.

 _Too empty._  
  
“Hawke…” this time it’s just too flebile, too soft for anybody but him to hear.

Fen.

_“It was right”_

 Anders storms out of the room, and Fenris can’t say if it’s pain or anger that is winning in his eyes. Isabela and Sebastian stay for a little longer, in silence, and it’s even worse. Isabela is never quiet. It’s when the silence is just too much that they go, and he can swear she is starting to cry when she walks off the door. He sees Sebastian and Merrill holding her while they disappear in the dark. Varric is still sitting next to the fireplace, looking at him. Fenris can’t bring himself to look up. Everything is too painful, too quick, and what hurts the most is not knowing what he is dealing with. He can deal with death, he can deal with loss, he can deal with anger. But this, this is something he has never known. This is something so far beyond his reach he can only let the feeling overcome him and hope that it swallows him whole. Because this pain is just too much. It’s complete and it’s utter and it’s everywhere. It’s the pain of knowing, it’s the hurt of powerlessness. 

All of a sudden, he wishes Hawke was dead.  
  
It must be hours, or perhaps seconds, before he finds the strength to speak.

“I never thought I would have mourned a mage”

Varric looks into the fire, breathing deeply “You aren’t. You are mourning yourself”


End file.
